Danny
by Liebling
Summary: ‘And do not stray to remember that peace comes at a price . . . and for right now . . . the price is your soul.’ Hideously odd. A Good VS Evil fic centered around Ms. Hermione Granger.


A/N: This is so hideously odd it simply doesn't make sense. But it sounds bloody good.  
  
The main character in this fic is Hermione (if you couldn't tell) She's about sixteen or seventeen in this one (except the start when she's reading Hogwarts a History at that point she's about twelve)  
  
;)  
  
Read along darlings.   
  
*  
  
There was good and evil, there always was. There was the gallant and the cowardly and no one knew which one was good and which one was evil. They were distinguished but the people were silly and knew naught of much.  
  
And the good wore hideous looks on their pale faces and the evil looked smug and happy at the prospect of a good fight.  
  
The good always turned down power plays and anything of any sort of interest.  
  
At times the people were confused and they often forgot what side was 'good' and what side was 'evil.' For the people were odd, just like the wind.  
  
A battle took place as battles usually do. On a cool field with wet dew and people crowded about. They are fighting a battle, and they always call it a war. It sounds nobler, that way. And they take their supplies and head out to the grass and they stare. Their green eyes bore into hazel eyes and they instruct the little ones to go away:  
  
"Just leave!" A young man yells at his little sister.  
  
"Danny!"  
  
"Just leave!" He says now more urgently. She scowls and looks at him.  
  
"Danny!"  
  
"Listen!" He yells loudly as he pulls her far away. "I would never be able to forgive myself if I let you die out here! Now be my little girl and go inside the house. Now."  
  
And it is not a question, it is a plea.  
  
"You won't have to forgive yourself..." she says, more sincerely than ever, "...you'll be dead."  
  
And it was not pleasant.  
  
He looks at her and opens his mouth and no words come out. And she kisses his cheek and smiles grimly. "But that is the point, isn't it?"  
  
Then, she goes away into the distant, lost in the fog and haze.  
  
And he does die, of course. For war is always predictable and never interesting. And he is on the evil side, and they never would've thought so.  
  
But that was the past and the present must now mold to what the past has made.  
  
But it doesn't quite mold, it molds slightly, but the mold is messed up. But then again, the past was messed up.  
  
And a young girl reads an ancient book, Hogwarts a History and she situates herself on an overstuffed armchair. And just reading the words in the books that they've sent her gives her the chills. But she shakes them off, for she is a tough girl filled with aspirations. She winces at the book and puts it down with a thump.  
  
And then she picks it up again.  
  
For it is addicting and cruel and it shall happen again. Maybe not when she's living...but soon.  
  
She is young now, with tangled hair and a shining morning face. And she puts the book in her lap and thinks back to happier things...but she doesn't last long thinking of these things.  
  
The words haunt her, they are not words like 'jolly' and 'love' and 'forever.' They are crude words written in crude form, messy cursive. And the words are scary but they are deathly intriguing.  
  
And soon, the past shall become the present and all before shall die. Horrible deaths. Painful and cruel. And not quick...they shall be long with obnoxious 'ending' speeches. Speeches with confessions of love and dignity and friendship. And their breath will become shorter and their wills will become stronger and they'll never be weak...but they may be dead.  
  
Actually, for a fact, they will be death.  
  
The past shall predict the present and the future and they will die like their ancestors. Some will die cowards; some will die heroes, but all will die. And how you die is of no significance, really. You may die near friends, enemies, or neither. Your arm may be placed across your friend's shoulder...just like old times. Good times. Filled with smutty jokes and loads of chocolate. And you'll tell your friend in the strongest voice you can muster:  
  
"Okay then."   
  
And he'll reply with a stiff nod and say: "I never did quite like Farre. You've always been my best friend."  
  
And you'll reply in a staunch voice: "You could've told me before."  
  
"It would have been too easy," he replies with a quick wink.  
  
"Too easy?" You chuckle softly. The voices running through your ears like warm blood flows through veins.  
  
And it wouldn't have been too easy, because there just isn't such a thing.   
  
Your friend didn't know that.  
  
And in these battles, people don't usually live. But they never tell you that, they aren't supposed to. They tell you if you're good enough you'll live. And the thing is...no one's quite that good.  
  
Maybe not even the Heavens.  
  
She worries about her friends. They are strong boys with ruddy faces and messy hair. But no one ever tells you that they're strong...they aren't supposed to. That would take away the excitement of discovering it.   
  
And she brushes up on her knowledge of the past, and she looks around corners and dodges 'scary people.'  
  
And in the end it won't save her.  
  
Not even her boys who vow to always be there.   
  
When you're that far down...no one can save you.  
  
Maybe not even the Heavens.  
  
When you're far that down it's tough because you know you'll die. And you will, of course. And you haven't a prayer, or an action, and so you say a few words. Something that's supposed to be significant and interesting and all you can get out is a very breathy:  
  
"This isn't much fun, is it?" In a very dry tone.  
  
And then, as though to prove something to someone, anyone, "...and so it goes on..."  
  
And it does, of course.  
  
You're sad and disheartened but you are not uncomfortable. You are more at peace in death than you were before Final Exams and first dates, and first kisses, and even eating your Grandmother's mincemeat pie.  
  
It isn't supposed to work that way.  
  
But it does.  
  
And you've never been fond of letting nature take its course, but you've always had to anyway.  
  
It's an awful thought, but you think it anyway. It's a bad thought that is not gallant or kind of even with any sort of code of ethics. This is awful and difficult and morbid but ...at least the evil people are enjoying it...  
  
You place your hands underneath your head and dare not rest your eyes or even blink. You will your eyes not to close.  
  
But it's the way things work out...so they close.  
  
But just for a mere second. You were close, there.  
  
And you grab for your redhead friend's ankle and he looks down at you and screams and you yell at him, in the strongest voice you can muster:  
  
"Don't even! Go out there and you work your magic...and fight...and I'll be...I'll be here..."  
  
He looks annoyed, you weren't supposed die at that moment.  
  
And he kisses your clammy hand and says loudly: "Don't you die on me now."  
  
And he winks.  
  
And your eye closes slightly to wink back.  
  
And not even part of you believes that you'll maybe just live. Not even part of you. So you roll your eyes when his back is turned and you take deep breaths that hurt your tired body.  
  
Then, you're ready. Even though you muse you can't quite be ready for something like this.  
  
And the Heaven's take you. They've always wanted you, after all.  
  
And your friends continue to fight and see your body and they don't cry or say kind words they just continue to fight. And you're proud, although slightly disheartened, from afar. Way afar.  
  
But you look down on them from afar, and you think back on Hogwarts a History. And you remember the last page of the terribly long book.  
  
And it always did say:  
  
'And there will be solace and comfort for all of those who deserve it...and some of whom do not. And there will be mercy in the deepest darkest corners of your heart. But just the slightest bit of mercy. And do not stray to remember that peace comes at a price...and for right now...the price is your soul.'  
  
* 


End file.
